Skip to main content

stalk, street art


he lumbered down the alley, casting a long stalk of a shadow
hat brim twice over his ears, he whistled a tune
one of those you should know, but can't quite put your finger on
strolling out-of-sight, his image lingered


The photo is street art. It was my muse for this short scribbled poem. The prompt was "stalk." As soon as I read the word, I remembered this picture, snapped on an aimless walk through the Alberta Arts area of Portland. 

Did you know there's a really cool word - coddiwomple - that means to travel in a purposeful manner towards a vague destination? 

Yeah, a friend shared that with me awhile back, and I've been waiting for an opportune time to use it. Somehow, though, I think it will be worthy of a complete blog, in and of itself.


I find street art to be poignant. It tells a story, even scrawled graffiti. 

The spray-can wielding individual had something to say. And whether you agree with his method or not, the message was painted for viewing.

Where I live, we have an alley dedicated to public art. It's aptly called Tin Pan Alley, and there's a tiny theater that shows offbeat, Indie, Sundance-type films. Anyway, varied art pieces are hung on the walls of the alley, and I can almost see my imaginary character lumbering through, whistling that tune and stopping in to view a spaghetti western.

Choosing to live a coddiwomple life, broadens my experiences and artistry, my originality and wit. I am purposeful in my manner, but curious to see where it will take me.

Moving about aimlessly -

Missy


If you have been mildly amused, challenged or inspired by what you have read, please pass on my blog to a friend, colleague, family member or even random acquaintance




Comments

Popular posts from this blog

urban girl in the country

green in concrete For the last lot-of-years I’ve lived in urban areas.  I’ve become a city girl with hints of a flower child mixed with hipster nuances…translated I like to wear skinny jeans.  This is the total opposite of how I grew up, which was on a farm.  My paternal grandparents grew, raised, caught and hunted for everything they ate – radical organic, free-range stuff.  On my Mom’s side of the fam tree, there were green grocers and orchard growers.  Heck, I was in 4-H raising feeder calves and a small flock of wooly sheep.  Gardens, canning, freezing and preserving everything was the ordinary. I carried on the gardening-preserving, saving the spoils piece, until I found myself in fresh veggie-at-a-farmer’s-market heaven!  The foreign city I found myself in had a temperate climate where fruit and vegetables could be grown year ‘round, and … it was sold at a giant open air market every week.  Yippee!  I no longer needed to ...

wishing flower, vulnerable and beautiful

do you see a weed or a wish? Let’s just say, I’m not an early morning girl.  Those who know me appreciate this and quietly leave me alone until I’ve had a chance to emerge from my pre-coffee zombie state.  However, there is a bird glee club that begins at about 3:30, yes in the morning.  It’s lovely and melodic; leaving me no choice but to listen.  Translated, this means I’ve been up before my norm.  The youthful hours are warm, but fresh; they beg for a walk, and so does Isabella. Yesterday was a little cooler so our pace was speedy, at least for my little legs.  We passed cars and bushes and bugs zipping around … and the rejected weed. pulled up by its roots discarded wishing flower tossed aside left at the edge of the sidewalk the sun beat down life ebbing from the slender stalk, leaves drying, privately curling desperate to hold onto being funny , how I noticed the thrown-away on a morning walk my thought to stop and ...

road tripping: french glen and steens mountain

we took a stinkin' lot of dirt roads, but i wouldn't have it any other way The drive wasn’t long by west coast standards, a mere few of hours; which meant there was plenty of leisure (interpreted coffee time) before leaving on another road trip escapade.  I can’t begin to tell you how much fun it is to pack a bag, gas up the car and set out to see what can be seen. An interesting thing I’ve discovered on these exploits, is that having lived in Oregon for the majority of my life, I’ve missed “seeing” a lot of things. You know, I think we all get into the habit of going to the same places, which is a good thing, but we forget about the “other” places that are right in our own backyards. Case in point, yesterday afternoon, when my darling man and I went to Tumalo Falls. I’ve been to Skyliner Snow Park, but never gone the few more dirt road miles to see the falls. Holy cow! Is that lame, or what? a sweet little place, no frills, but plenty of yesteryear ...